Caressa's Knees (5 page)

Kyle was silent a moment. “I don’t know. This is the first tour I’ve been on.”

“Oh. But you must be very proud of her.”

It dawned on Caressa that the conductor mistakenly took Kyle for her partner. She took another big swallow of wine and put her hand squarely in Kyle’s lap. “Oh yes, he is very, very proud of me.”

Kyle’s hand closed on hers like a vise, lifting it and enclosing it in an iron clasp. “Caressa, perhaps you should slow down on the wine. Or eat something,” he said, nodding at her untouched plate of steak and pasta.

She snickered and looked up at the earnest conductor. “He’s just my assistant, actually.”

“Oh.” The conductor looked embarrassed, and Aunt Denise shifted and rubbed her forehead.

“That’s why he never smiles,” Caressa went on airily. “He’s only here to make sure I don’t…I don’t know…choke on my steak or something. Make sure I chew fifty times. He’s really a stickler about the chewing thing.”

“And the over-imbibing too,” Kyle said under his breath.

She tittered and put her hand in his lap again, only to find herself once again intercepted. “Yes, an assistant,” she said. “All the most important cellists need one. I might, you know, trip and impale myself on my bow or something without his assistance. He has a really important job.”

The conductor nodded at Kyle. “All joking aside, it is an important job. The music world would lose a luminary if anything befell our Caressa. It’s good that you’re here to help her.”

“I try,” Kyle replied tightly.

Caressa giggled again. “He spanks me when I’m bad though. At least he threatens to.” No one laughed, but Kyle turned a few more shades of furious at her side. “I’m totally kidding,” she said in the tense silence. “It was a joke.”

Yeah, maybe she shouldn’t have had the wine after all. The conductor and Aunt Denise gave a token chuckle, but Kyle’s scowl deepened and he wouldn’t meet her eyes. Caressa drew in a deep breath and drank some water to try to clear her head.

“So, Miss Gallo, have you found Saint-Saëns’ Concerto a challenge?” asked the conductor, who she now remembered was named Andreas.

She twirled some linguini on her plate, framing responses,
then
picked up her wine again.
I certainly have found it a challenge, you
fuckhead
.
Probably too rude.
Every time I hear it now, I want to gouge out my eardrums with an ice pick.
No, a little negative.
Saint-Saëns is the devil and you are his errand boy.
That made her giggle
and choke on the wine she’d just sipped. It backed up into her sinus cavity and she put her napkin to her nose, staring down at the red spots she snorted onto the linen. She started laughing harder. Damn, she was a mess. Kyle made an impatient sound and reached for her wine glass, putting it down on the other side of the table.

“I am not drunk!” she protested, still unable to stop giggling.

Aunt Denise smiled at the conductor. “She so rarely imbibes. She’s very focused on her music all the time. Then she cuts loose…”

“Of course.
Who can blame her?” The conductor smiled too.

Caressa wanted to applaud.
Well played, Aunt Denise!
Her aunt had become so adept at glossing over her meltdowns. Of course, she’d given her enough practice over the years. Years and years and
years
…

God, so many years.
And now Saint-Saëns and his fucking concerto like an albatross around her neck. With it, she was something. Without it, she was a failure. If she could have, if she had any balls at all, she would look at Aunt Denise and the conductor and say very calmly and clearly, “I am actually not capable of playing it well enough. I don’t really want to try. Can we just call this all off?” God, she was fucking dizzy. She wasn’t much of a drinker. She put her fork down with a clank against her plate and put her head in her hands. A silence fell over the table.

“You look tired, Caressa,” her aunt said.

“I am tired. I’m sorry. I think maybe I’m a little drunk.”

Aunt Denise reached across the table to pat her arm, although Caressa knew she’d rather slap her. “We’ve got the first concert tomorrow night. Perhaps you should go home and rest. Mr. Winchell, do you mind?”

“Not at all.”

Kyle sounded relieved. Caressa pushed back her chair and tried to look up at him, but the room tilted, then tipped completely to one side. She staggered and groped for him. “You know, I always forget that I don’t do well with red wine…something about…I don’t know…”

His arm came around her back and steadied her.
“Maybe the fact that you’re not legally old enough to drink yet.”

She snorted. “I’m sure that’s part of it.”

He caught her under the arm as she stumbled against him. “It’s been a long day. Let’s just get you back to the hotel.”

She didn’t say anything more, just concentrated on walking as he led her from the restaurant. Why did people have to stare?
So rude.
And her hair was still wet. She should never have gone out in the rain.

He got her right into a cab and she slumped against him even though she meant to keep her distance. She didn’t need him. She just needed some rest, some peace. She fell into his arms when he opened them and ended up completely horizontal across his lap.
Shit.
She was so tired, so tired. Next thing she knew, he was carrying her into the hotel.

“Thirty-five,” he said to someone in the elevator with them. “Thanks.”

“Got your hands full, I see,” said the other person with a hint of laughter.

Kyle didn’t answer, or if he did, she didn’t hear.

* * * * *

Kyle stayed up late, partly to be sure she didn’t traipse up to the roof again in her inebriated condition, and partly because he was too wrought up to sleep. He knew he had to leave. He could think of easier ways to earn money than hauling insane cellists down from rooftops in the middle of electrical storms, and he didn’t need the drama of her obviously far-reaching problems.

Still, a part of him regretted giving up on her so quickly. He’d weathered some real storms in life with the help of friends, but Caressa seemed to have no friends to help her, aside from a business-minded aunt and a tour manager who couldn’t even be bothered to come on the actual tour. And an “assistant”—
him—
hired to wrangle her like some temperamental animal. No wonder The Prodigy rattled her cage.

But he couldn’t endure another rooftop incident. He would never forget the sight of her rushing to the edge of the roof, for no other reason than to yank his chain. Her needs were beyond his capabilities.
Which was saying something, since Jeremy Gray had been one hell of a messed-up motherfucker.

Still, Jeremy Gray had basic control of himself when it came down to it. Caressa Gallo did not. Part of him considered phoning his old boss for his always-straightforward advice.
She’s even more fucked up than you, Jeremy. Yes, I’m serious. But there’s something about her… Should I stay or should I go?
Damn, there
was
something about her.
Probably the most important reason of all to leave.

So he knocked on Denise Gallo’s door the next morning to tender his resignation. She was understandably angry.

“You signed a contract!” the woman blustered. She was keeping her voice down, but surely Caressa knew what he and her aunt were discussing. “I told you we preferred not to shuttle people in and out. Caressa needs consistency.
Predictability.
I told you she was high-strung—”

“High-strung?
She’s a maniac, and I would have guessed an alcoholic too, except that alcoholics don’t get drunk on two glasses of wine.”

“Last night was unfortunate. Caressa has never done well with wine.”

“Then why do you let her drink it?”

“She’s a grown woman, Mr. Winchell.”

“Grown woman is pushing it. I’ve seen three-year-olds who were more in control of themselves.”

“It’s not my job to control her. That’s what I hired you for.”

“She needs psychiatric help, which I’m not licensed to provide!”

Denise shook her head, rubbing her neck in frustration. “She does not need psychiatric help. She needs limits and structure… She’s just… She gets frustrated sometimes. Isn’t that understandable?” She glanced at Kyle, then away, frowning. “I mean, maybe if you were to…turn on the charm, so to speak?”

“I’m sorry. What exactly do you mean by ‘turn on the charm’?”

She flushed a little around the ears, and cleared her throat. “I don’t mean to be indelicate, but…”

“Yes, let’s be indelicate. What exactly are you talking about? Are you suggesting that I romance her as a system of control? Is that seriously what you’re suggesting?”

Now Ms. Gallo went on the defensive, blustering and reddening.
“No! I mean… Well, she’s a lovely girl, Mr. Winchell. She can be quite charming when…”

Kyle crossed his arms over his chest, floored by the sudden clarity of the situation he found himself in. “When she’s getting some masculine attention? Is that what you mean to say? And I don’t really see this ‘charming’ side of her you keep alluding to. Maybe if I wore
less
clothes.”

“You’re making this sound much more sordid than it actually is.”

“I’m sure that’s not possible. Why didn’t you just advertise for a gigolo if that’s what you wanted?”

“Mr. Winchell, you’re overreacting.”

“Just answer one thing for me. Did you hire me with this intent all along?”

“No—I mean, I considered—I looked for a good fit. For someone I thought she might get along with. Caressa is… Mr. Winchell, you must understand, she is not like other women. I just want to help her. I’ll do anything for my niece.”

“Yes, but I won’t. I’ve been there, done that. ‘I’ll do anything’ always ends badly. I learned that the hard way.”

“Don’t get angry. You have to understand that my main goal is to keep Caressa happy.”

“Your main goal is to keep Caressa playing her cello so you can bask in her spotlight and keep the money rolling in.”

“How dare you suggest such a thing? Caressa plays the cello because she loves it. I wouldn’t expect a non-musician like you to understand. If you saw her play—”

“I’m not going to see her play. I think it’s best if I leave this morning.”

Ms. Gallo moved to block him at the door, her bluster and anger transforming into desperation. She put a hand on Kyle’s arm.

“Mr. Winchell, please. Caressa needs companionship. She needs structure. I’ve tried hiring women, girls her age. I’ve tried finding her friends. I’ve tried psychologists and psychiatrists. I’ve tried medication, but it interferes with her playing and that hurt her most of all. I’ve tried everything.”

“Have you tried letting her make her own friends and live her own life?”

Ms. Gallo was silent a moment, then let out a long, defeated sigh. “I really thought you might understand.”

“I’m sorry to disappoint you, but I’m afraid this assignment is not going to work out for me.” Kyle opened the door and left, resisting the urge to slam it behind him. He was barely a few steps away when Ms. Gallo opened it again.

“Kyle. Please. If you leave, who else will help her?”

“I don’t know and I don’t care,” he said over his shoulder. “I just know it won’t be me.”

Chapter Three:

Connection

Kyle threw his suitcases on the bed, trying to master his temper. It was happening all over again.
The obnoxious bulldozing of personal lines.
Do this,
do that
.
There must be something about him that screamed for exploitation. He remembered the first time Jeremy Gray had called him into his bedroom. Three girls on the bed, fake boobs thrusting and red lips panting. He’d been twenty-one at the time and he didn’t think twice. He didn’t think twice for many years, through countless threesomes and foursomes and
moresomes
as Jeremy’s “assistant”. He’d enjoyed them all immensely, until he looked in the mirror the next morning.

No more. Those days were over for him.

Kyle focused on packing, emptying his drawers with methodical precision. He had a particular way he liked to pack. He liked control and organization. Yes, he was good at creating structure. Denise certainly had him pegged. And damn, it’s not like he hadn’t imagined whipping Caressa into shape, gorgeous mess that she was. Denise wanted him to “charm” her into submission. Kyle would have employed other methods. Her uptight aunt would have been up in arms.

But whatever.
The sooner he put the Caressa chapter behind him, the better. His days of self-sacrifice were over. He was looking out for Kyle now, who was almost a year sober and tired of other people’s insanity. He lined up his shirts beside his boxers in the smaller suitcase,
then
turned to the closet to get his suits. He sensed her there before he turned at her soft knock. She was just out of bed, looking tired and rumpled in a tee shirt and sleep pants. She took in the suitcases,
then
looked back at him, pushing her hair from her eyes.